


Song to the Moon

by 2CELLOSFanFiction



Category: 2Cellos, Stjepan Hauser - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 19:24:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3866917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2CELLOSFanFiction/pseuds/2CELLOSFanFiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Song to the Moon” It’s my favorite of Stjepan’s classical performances, but not for the reason you might expect. I take it to bed with me, feed it through my earbuds on repeat until I’m ready to sleep. It isn’t his chords that take me out of my worries but his breathing. Oh God, his breathing. </p>
<p>Do I listen to his breathing as he drunk calls me again or is this something more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Song to the Moon

“Song to the Moon” It’s my favorite of Stjepan’s classical performances, but not for the reason you might expect. I take it to bed with me, feed it through my earbuds on repeat until I’m ready to sleep. It isn’t his chords that take me out of my worries but his breathing. Oh God, his breathing.   
Stjepan’s breath in my ears guides me through one tiny, self-influcted orgasm after another, night after night. He doesn’t know that I touch myself while fantasizing about him, that he is the only man I can fantasize about and not feel ashamed, but I do, and GOD do I! One flash of heat after another and he’s right there breathing them out with me, filling my mind with him in all capacities until I’m too exhausted to keep my eyes open. It’s the same every night. It was the same tonight, and then I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep…  
…until I woke to the annoying ring of my cell phone. What the fuck?! Stjepan’s name was on the screen. My clock said 2:09 a.m.; since his tour had him in the same time zone, bars had just closed up. I figured he was drunk calling and let it go to voicemail. This was our normal routine when he struck out with women. He called, I consoled him, reminded him that he was valuable, and he went about his merry way. It had been that way since we’d met years ago, when the limelight of fame had only showcased him as an award-winning, classical cellist.   
Except tonight I was too tired to console him. Too full of my fantasies to care that he had struck out. Too tired of the one-sidedness of it all. Instead of leaving a message, he called back. When I let it ring through the second time, he called a third. What the fuck? I gave in.   
“I’m asleep,” I grumbled.  
“Come on, just hear me out.”  
“You forget some of us have day jobs.”  
“I remember.” He sighed; the sound tore at my heartstrings.   
“Okay, fine…I’m listening. What do you want?”  
“Breakfast. See, we had this concert and there weren’t any restaurants open nearby…and I’m starving.”  
“Aw you poor baby.” I giggled. “I know you know how to cook. And damn well too. I’ve tasted it. Get them to find a store and make yourself some food. You’re still on the tour bus, right?”  
“That’s why I was calling…”  
I sat up, groggy. “You don’t sound very drunk.”  
“I’m not. That’s what I’m trying to say. Listen. We played this show, then we drove around looking for somewhere to eat. We stopped at this place called Denny’s. It’s horrible. So I borrowed a car and drove straight to my favorite red brick house.”  
Oh. My. God.  
“You know, you didn’t tell me how hot it gets out here.” He chuckled.   
I threw my phone aside, ran to the front door and threw it open. There he was, standing on my stoop, hands buried in his black jeans, looking absolutely delicious. His shirt was one I had gotten him for his birthday a few years ago, one I hadn’t thought he’d liked very much. His hair was longer, shaggier than when I last saw him, but looked downright sexy. Then he turned his eyes to me, dark eyes that had no trouble seeing into my soul. That’s where his stardom came from. His musical talent guaranteed gigs, his eyes filled the seats.  
He perked an eyebrow at me and took a good long look at my pajamas. Because of the hot nights, and because I was secretly a CelloGirl (there was no need for him to know that), I had worn one of my 2CELLOS shirts to bed; he was certainly appreciating the choice. I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him through the door. He scooped me up in a hug and I swear to god the way the man smelled melted everything in my body.   
He kicked the door closed and kissed me with the most delicious lips I’ve ever known a man to have.   
This wasn’t our normal routine. We’ve never slept together before. Hell, we’d only kissed once before, a sloppy drunken kiss, but this was what I had been wanting for a long time. Even though it was just for tonight, I was happy that it was finally happening at all.  
I took him by the hand and led him into my bedroom.   
As soon as we were through the door, he turned me towards him gently and kissed me with a lingering need that told me how much he had wanted this too. I wasn’t the kind of girl to have friends with benefits, so this was a long time coming, and would take equally long for me to get over. Whatever. Thinking could be saved for tomorrow.  
He ate at my mouth, slowly, delicately, until my knees would no longer support me. I sat back on my bed and he pulled away from me with a smile. There, that was the smile, the one that made every girl in the world hot in the pants. I was no different. I was wet, and ready, and when I finally tore myself from the glory of his face, found that he was ready too.   
I grabbed his belt loop and pulled him forward. Come on, you know I want this. He looked down at me, took my head in his hands and kissed me again, kissed me, crawled over me until we were both fully on the bed. He laid down beside me, stuck his hand up the bottom of the shirt and grabbed my ass. There were no panties tonight. He groaned, low and sultry. He was definitely a tits and ass man.   
I buried my fingers in his hair, in that gloriously thick mane of his and held him to me. He broke away from my lips and kissed my neck, across my collarbone and between my breasts. God he felt amazing. Each hot kiss on my skin made me shiver with the silhouette of an orgasm. It wasn’t going to take much to get me there if he kept this up. I rubbed my leg against his, tried to press myself against his rock hard cock, to let him know I needed him right then and there, but it wouldn’t be over that quickly as long as he had say in the matter.  
He sat up and brought my knee to his mouth and kissed the skin just inside my leg. Oh god, why had I not known that I could feel that good right there? Right fucking there. My legs parted for him just like that. He knew what he was doing. He kissed his way up my thigh. Oh. My. God. I was so wet and on the brink of something very much like an orgasm when he cupped my ass in both hands and kissed me THERE.   
I moaned. Not just moaned, I FUCKING MOANED! He buried his tongue inside of me and the sounds he made at the taste of my pussy were so intense that I came for him. I came on demand. He licked it up with such hunger that he was almost an animal between my legs. I savored every elegant flick of his tongue as heat rose inside of me. There was so much heat that I felt the waves coming off of my body: Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold. Hot. More hot. Fiery hot. So much heat that I couldn’t see anymore, and still he persisted. I called out his name, time and again, until my voice cracked and my back arched off the bed.   
He came away from me and pulled his shirt off, wiped his face with it and rose over my body with the most animalistic look I had ever seen, one that made my heart stop. He was making sure that I was good and ruined for every other man in every possible way. Was I good with that? You bet your ass I was.   
I rubbed my calves against the back of his legs and felt the incredible tingle of his bare skin against mine. When had his pants come off? Never mind. He’d positioned himself and then he was inside of me, and for all the world I forgot to breathe. He was so hard and felt so great as he filled me. And fill me he did. Completely. Then I pulled his head down and he kissed me, deep and full, and I tasted myself on his tongue. Which was apparently a huge turn-on for him. He made a sound in his throat, something more beautiful than even his cello could create, and then he was in my ear, breathing hard, inhaling sharply, sighing with desire. He worked my body relentlessly, building my orgasm to a point I had never reached before.   
I held firmly to him as my brain turned to mush and my body convulsed. He slowed down, whispered something in my ear that he knew I couldn’t understand, and still I shook in the tremors of the intense pleasure he’d given me. Then just as the aftershocks were starting to dull, he picked up his pace and moved inside of me at such a rhythm that it was an exact match to what was going on in my body. Oh. My. God. How was that even fucking possible?   
His breath was there, his sighing and need, his kisses…his kisses…always there, always asking for more. And I gave him more. I gave him everything he wanted from me. Then I was calling his name again, and as my voice rose higher and louder, I lost control of myself and I bit his shoulder. It was hard, not enough to draw blood, just hard enough to leave an impression of my teeth on him for the night. Mine. This part of you is mine. The sharp inhale I got from him, the low groan after, oh my god. He encouraged my hold. Maybe he wanted to belong to somebody. Maybe he wanted to belong to me. I released him after a moment and kissed the place where my mark was. It wouldn’t last long, but for tonight he was mine.  
That second climax made my own desperate need shine through. I raked my nails across his back and moved with him, rocked my hips with every thrust, deepening his penetration, taking every beautiful inch of him inside of my body. And then it was there, a climax so precious that every nerve ending was on fire. If it was possible to die from that, I certainly would have. He was in my ear, whispering in his native tongue, breathing through it with me, and I swear I heard my song just faintly riding on the edge of his voice. He gave me a few final thrusts, then slowed down and eventually collapsed beside me.  
As I shook with the aftershocks, he laid his head on my shoulder and wrapped his arms around me. I thought, for all the world, that now I knew what his cello felt like when he played it. I ran my fingers through his hair until, just as dawn was beginning to break over the horizon, he fell asleep. I couldn’t tell him, but that was the moment I fell in love with him. The moment that no other man would do because no other man was Stjepan Hauser.


End file.
